Checking Out

One of the things I love about Instagram is how you end up being close friends with complete strangers. And that’s because, for some reason, people love to overshare. 

One post, it’s them having a nonsensical conversation with their child who’s having a bit of a pre-nap meltdown, and the next, they’re celebrating their birthday at a fancy schmancy restaurant with ten of their best friends, each of whom is helpfully tagged, so you can check out the intimate details of their lives and them become friends with them. 

I especially love the holiday posts where they’re leaping into a pool on some remote island vacation. And just in case you missed the splash down the first time, they helpfully film the whole thing in Boomerang mode, so you get to watch it on an eternal re-loop. And they always look so happy.

And then there was the time @markshark posted not just his wedding invitation with the exact date, but also the RSVP address which turned out to be his home address.  

As Saffy, having just watched ‘Ocean’s 8’, pointed out at the time, “This guy has 6,585 followers. One of them is bound to be a burglar!”

Amanda shook her head. “An empty apartment for the whole day of the wedding. The burglars could take a break and have lunch duringthe heist! And he’s got such nice stuff too!” And we know @markshark has nice stuff in his apartment because he’s posted a lot of videos and photos of it over the years.

Of course, there are people who are the complete opposite and who only post pictures of themselves in a hospital, invariably a random shot of them looking unamused whilst posing in their hospital gown.

“Aiyoh!” Sharyn said the other day as we were waiting in line at Tiong Bahru for our weekend dose of zhwee kueh and everyone was scrolling through Instagram. She slurped loudly on her container of sugar cane juice. “Why is she in hospital again?”

Saffy looked up. “Who?”

“Aiyah, this person I follow, lah! I doh-no her, but my son say I should follow her, but all her post is her in hospital. One day, got break leg, another day got headache. Today, doh-no what. She just post picture of hospital bed!”

“Some people are just strange,” Saffy advised. “Meanwhile, can I just say that I’m wishing I was on holiday with Kourtney Kardashian?”

Amanda looked up from her phone where she’d been drooling over someone decorating a cake. “Why, where is she now?”

“Bali! And she looks like she’s having a great time!”

“Oh yes, I saw that. Kim and Khloe are there too, but I think they’ve left already,” said Amanda with the kind of easy familiarity I recognized from knowing the exact location and wedding date of someone I’d never met.

“And did you notice she wears a different outfit in every picture?” Saffy sighed as she shuffled forward in the zhwee kueh line. “Those sisters have the best holidays. My last holiday was to Bintan! What a bust!”

The air turned frosty. “Excuse me,” Amanda said, “but we went to Bintan together!”

Saffy shrugged. “Yes, but we didn’t go with the Kardashian sisters to Bali. They stayed in a five star resort. We stayed in some rickety old beach hut. I’m just saying!”

Amanda’s irritation deflated. “Yeah, alright. That was a crappy holiday,” she admitted with a sigh. “I wish I was on holiday with the Kardashians, too! I bet they flew in on a private jet, or something. And they probably brought a stylist along to style their babies, too!”

“There are times I wish that I, too, had made a sex tape!” Saffy announced. I couldn’t help but notice that several heads in the zhwee kueh line swiveled around in our direction. “Imagine how rich and famous I’d be right now!”

“Yah, you probably got PA to line up for you to get your zhwee kueh!” Sharyn said, completely and loyally buying into the commercial upside of Saffy’s R-rated fantasy. 

Saffy’s bosom inflated. “I know right? I’d never have to line up for anything ever again in my life! I’d be so rich I’d pay someone to do it for me!”

Sharyn nodded. “Hannor!” 

“But who would you make that sex tape with?” Amanda asked, demonstrating, not for the first time, her talent for detail.

Saffy barely paused. “Donald Trump!” 

Sharyn coughed up some sugar cane juice.

“If that sex tape didn’t make you millions, I don’t know what would,” Amanda told her.

Saffy’s bosom trembled. “I know, right?”